rara avis

Rara Avis

    From the beginning, that one egg looked odd. Gladys had a full clutch, and that one was almost the right size and almost the right color. Almost. But not quite. And it looked ... leathery.
    "Gladys," I clucked tactfully, "you and I have been hens together in this chicken yard for, oh, a long, long time." I'm afraid I'm not very good at measuring time. I pretty much live from one cock-a-doodle-doo to the next.
    "Yes, indeed, Hildy," said Gladys with brittle friendliness and lively suspicion. "What do you want?"
    "Nothing, nothing at all," I fibbed. "That's a lovely nest full of eggs you've got there."
    "Ye-e-es? And ...?"
    "Oh, nothing," I repeated, but my curiosity was getting the better of me. "Uh, beautiful eggs, as I said. But, um, did you happen to notice that one over towards the left? In the back?"
    "What about it?" she asked hostilely.
    "Uh, nothing, really. It's just that it looks a bit ... different. Do you know why that is?"
    "Eggs is eggs," said Gladys shortly.
    And that was that. Until the hatching.

    "Oh, Gladys!" I hailed in a neighborly, conversational way. "I couldn't help noticing your beautiful brood. Such fine chicks."
    "Cluck," she said.
    I hesitated. "But that, uh, one over there ..."
    "What about him?" She ruffled up defensively.
    "It's just that he looks ... a little different."
    "That's Benjy," said Gladys. "I won't have anyone making fun of him."
    "Oh, no no no! Of course not," I replied hastily. "I wouldn't dream of it. But ... he doesn't have any feathers."
    "Well, it's early," said Gladys. "Some chicks take a little time."
    "But he doesn't have legs, either," I blurted. "And he doesn't peep and he's a foot long and he crawls!"
    "Nobody's perfect," said Gladys.
    "What I'm saying," I continued rashly, "is ... are you sure he's a chicken? He looks more like a ..."
    "Don't say it!" warned Gladys.
    And that was that until eggs started disappearing. And chicks, too.

    Gladys was out in the yard, scratching diligently for corn.
    "Hey, Gladys!" I clucked.
    "Hildy!" she replied with scant acknowledgment.
    "Say, how's the family? I, uh, don't actually see any of your family about ..." I let the implied question hang in the air.
    "Benjy is over there, sleeping on that rock," Gladys explained. "Hey, Benjy! Come on over here and say hello to your Aunt Hildy!"
    "Oh, you really shouldn't have wakened him for me," I protested. "But what about your other five chicks?"
    Gladys cleared her throat nervously. "I'm afraid they're all ... gone." She choked back a sob.
    "Gone?" I asked. "Where to?"
    "I don't know!" she wailed. "Just gone! I'm afraid some awful fox has gotten them!"
    "Oh, dear!" I commiserated. "I'm so sorry."
    "Aunt Hhhh-i-i-i-lllldy?" Benjy had grown alarmingly. He was now towering over me in full rear.
    "Um, wh-what a l-lovely h-hood you have!" I sputtered.
    "Co-o-omb," Benji corrected. "It'sssss a co-o-omb."
    "W-w-well, of course it is!" I recovered lamely. "And such beautiful scales!"
    "Ffffeaththersssss," hissed Benjy. "Thththey'rrre ffffeaththerssss."
    "R-r-right, you a-are!" I peeped, as well as I could. "G-gosh, how time flies! I've r-really g-got to be p-p-pecking! W-w-wonderful t-to s-see you, B-benjy!"
    And I trundled off as fast as my chicken legs would carry me.
    And that was that until Benjy became Cock of the Walk.

    "How did this happen?" I asked the other girls. "I thought the other candidate had more votes."
    "Ye-e-es," said Henrietta, looking nervously about, "but he got pecked right after the election."
    "Pecked?" I retorted. "So what? That's a common enough occurrence in the yard. No one's ever gotten worse than wounded dignity from that."
    "Uh, no," she whispered, still looking around, "pecked. Like some of the ones we've been seeing lately, where they kind of swell up and die."
    "O-o-oh!" said I with dawning comprehension. "Isn't anyone doing anything about it?"
    "Well, sort of," said Lola. "A complaint was made to the Supreme Coop."
    "Ah, good!" I said. "And ...?"
    "And they threw it out!" clucked Lola.
    "Really?" I couldn't understand why.
    "Uh, have you noticed," clucked Henrietta, " that some of those new chickens have showed up on the Supreme Coop?"
    "New chickens?" I asked thickly. "What are they, Rhode Island Reds?"
    "No no no!" whispered Lola. "The new chickens. The long, slithery kind ..."
    "Ah, I see." I saw.
    And that was that until the new laws.

    "Hear ye! Hear ye! By these presents be it known that henceforward, all chickens shall cease and desist from living in coops and shall take up residence in holes in the ground!"
    That was the first one. The speaker was some old cock whose name everyone had forgotten.
    "What's going on here?" I asked. "Chickens don't live in holes in the ground! There must be some mistake!"
    "No mistake!" crowed the old cock. "This is a necessary measure to protect us from the nefarious foxes, weasels, and such that prey on us. Cock of the Walk Benjy is a strong leader who will make us safe! Boy, aren't we lucky we've got him!"
    "Oh, yes!" murmured the chickens in the yard. "Lucky! Lucky!"
    "That's loony," I said.
    "What?" clucked the cock. "That's aid and comfort to the predators!"
    The other chickens eyed me with suspicion.
    Law Number Two wasn't long in coming. We were summoned from our holes by that same old cock.
    "Hear ye! Hear ye! By these presents be it known that henceforward, all chickens shall cease and desist from eating corn and other grains and shall eat only small rodents and frogs!"
    "Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute!" I cried. "Grain is what we eat! Chickens don't eat that other kind of stuff!"
    "This law is for your own protection," bellowed the old cock. "The new Department of Chicken Security has determined that the foxes are planning to poison the corn. The Cock of the Walk has sent a platoon of fryers out on a seek and destroy mission against the foxes."
    "Oh, dear!" gabbled the chickens. "Thank goodness we have Cock of the Walk Benjy to protect us!"
    "That's moronic," I muttered softly. But not softly enough, apparently.
    "She doesn't support the troops!" gasped the hen nearest me. "For shame!"
    "Well, if you want to kill foxes," I suggested, "why not send some of those 'new chickens' out to do it?"
    That was a mistake. A heavy murmur of disapproval was directed my way. I heard words like "unchicken-like" and "treason" in the muttering.
    Then came Law Number Three. The old cock strutted forth, spitting frog intestines.
    "Hear ye! Hear ye! By these presents be it known that all chickens shall report forthwith to be inventoried - I mean, registered."
    I waited for someone else to ask for an explanation. No luck.
    "I suppose this is for our own good," I ventured.
    "Absolutely!" crowed the cock. "It's to guard against fox spies and fox sympathizers." He looked at me pointedly. There was also a "new chicken" in the crowd.
    "Uh, this clearly violates the Code of the Yard," I plunged on rashly. I didn't see how I could make things any worse. "And so do those other new laws. Is everyone going to scratch around and watch these guys shred the Code of the Yard?"
    There was a hum of uncertainty among the assembled. Perhaps I had finally reached a rational pocket in their tiny brains. (Hey, mine is just as tiny.)
    "The Code of the Yard is not intended to protect foxes and fox sympathizers," said the old cock. "They're just using the Code to protect their nefarious activities. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear from these laws."
    "Oh, yeah," clucked the crowd.
    And that was that until I visited my friends Henrietta and Lola.

    "Well, ladies," I began, "at least you appear not to have been suckered in by King Benjy and his trogle of 'new chickens.'"
    "Nope. No way," they said.
    "Good," I said. "We need to band together and fight this bunch."
    "Nope. No way," they said.
    "Uh, what's that?" I spluttered. "I don't think I heard you right."
    "We don't like Cock of the Walk Benjy," explained Henrietta, "but all the Cocks of the Walk are about the same."
    "The same?" I gasped in disbelief.
    "Yeah, pretty much," said Lola. "We'll try to get a better one next time."
    "You don't understand," I pleaded. "There isn't going to be a next time with these guys."
    "Oh, sure there will," said Henrietta. "There always is."
    "They aren't even chickens!" I cried. "They're snakes!"
    "How dare you!" gasped Henrietta and Lola in unison.
    "You must never use the S word!" added Henrietta.
    "Of course they're chickens!" insisted Lola. "They're running our government! They may be a little different, but they're still chickens."
    "Anyway," clucked Henrietta, "I feel safer with Cock of the Walk Benjy in charge. He can protect us from the foxes."
    "But who," I sighed, "is going to protect us from him?"
    And, I'm afraid, that was that.